we were quiet, compliant, agreeable. we were cheerleaders and organised bake sales and attended our school discos. we accepted that we too would marry our high school sweethearts and move to pastel clapboard houses and attend garden parties and PTA meetings.but we wanted to enjoy the years of freedom that we still had left.
A three-bedroom, two-bath Folk Victorian with charming period details in Goldsboro, North Carolina need love and a new owner…for only $12,000!
Why Save It? The exterior retains simple clapboard siding and porch spindle work. Inside are pine floors, an elegant balustrade, and several wood mantels.
What It Needs: The 1,878 square-foot house will require a significant amount of work, including putting in all new systems and repairing the roof and siding; future restorations will be eligible for a state preservation tax credit. While it’s a sizable job, saving this gem would create a home base for life in a charming town, just an hour from Raleigh or Durham.
See full details in the September 2016 issue of This Old House magazine.
Charleston Improvement Corp. Houses (1906-07), view02, 93-99 Church St, Charleston, SC, USA by Steve Minor Via Flickr: Charleston est. 1670, pop. 127,999 (2013)
• No. 95 Church St
• parcel of land formerly owned by the Charleston Hydraulic Press Company (1874), a large industrial complex during the last half of the 19th c. • purchased by Charleston Improvement Corporation, 1906 • led by businessman Tristram T. Hyde (1862-1931), later mayor of Charleston) • constructed mid-sized houses throughout Charleston, 1906-1930
• this was the company’s most extensive development • similar Queen Anne style gable ends & front piazzas varied slightly with double-tiered porches at No. 93 (now gone) & No. 97, pedimented entries & side piazzas at No. 95 & No. 99
Charleston Historic District, National Register # 66000964, 1969 • declared National Historic Landmark District, 1973
You see that thirty-year-old blonde next to Jake? That’s his fiancée, Carrie Clapboard. Carrie moved all manner of heaven and earth to get into that chair. And soon she will happily oversee scullery maids and table settings and the reupholstering of antique chairs at three different houses; which is all well and good. But if I were your age, I wouldn’t be trying to figure out how to get into Carrie’s shoes - I’d be trying to figure out how to get into Jake’s.
A small, locally owned business, Wolf Creek Realty occupies the first floor of the white clapboard building. In addition to brokering house sales, they also handle short term vacation home rentals in and around Serendipity during the summer tourist season.
For those of you who asked for it, Kinsley’s house is now up in the gallery. Unfortunately I didn’t save a version before I moved her out with all her furniture *hangs head in shame*, so it’s empty. Feel free to base the decor on mine & send me any WCIFs if you need something, just please check my WCIF page first to make sure I haven’t already answered it.
Cindy Suen has been SO inspired by Lizzie’s documentary: “This piece is about
Lizzie’s film, and films make me think about clapperboards, which in
turn make me think about taking action, because people who use them
would always shout ‘Action!’ enthusiastically. So with this piece, I’d
like to encourage everyone to watch Lizzie’s incredibly inspiring
film…Take action behind what she conveys in her film, through a
clapperboard that spills out love to the world with rainbow hearts.” This would be the best clapboard EVER!
Large clapboard house with gingerbread trim, viewed diagonally across board sidewalk and fences (decorative and utilitarian). Three boys lean on board fence. Leafless trees by sidewalk, more houses beyond. Handwritten on photograph front, under boys: “George Root, Wm. Clark, Frank Clark.” Typed on label on photograph back: “This house was erected about 1857 or 1858, for Dr. Augur Clark. The three boys in the foreground are William and Frank Clark, and George Root. The two Clark boys are the sons of the doctor. Mr. James F. Joy lived in the house at one time, and James Joy was born there. It was torn down many years ago, and a row of brick buildings erected in its place. The picture was given me by Mr. William A. Butler Jr. The house is on the north side of Fort Street between Cass and First Streets.” Handwritten on photograph back: “D/Sts_Fort, between Cass & First. C.M.B. (?) Dec. 5, 1908.”
Courtesy of the Burton Historical Collection, Detroit Public Library
“These housing ‘products’ represent a triumph of mass merchandising over regional building traditions, of salesmanship over civilization. You can be sure the same houses have been built along a highway strip outside Fresno, California, as at the edge of a swamp in Pahokee, Florida, and on the blizzard-blown fringes of St. Cloud, Minnesota. They might be anywhere. The places they stand are just different versions of nowhere, because these houses exist in no specific relation to anything except the road and the power cable. Electric lighting has reduced the windows to lame gestures. Tradition comes prepackaged as screw-on aluminium shutters, vinyl clapboards, perhaps a phony cupola on the roof ridge, or a plastic pediment over the door—tribute, in sad vestiges, to a lost past from which nearly all connections have been severed. There they sit on their one- or two- or half-acre parcels of land—the scruffy lawns littered with the jetsam of a consumerist religion (broken tricycles, junk cars, torn plastic wading pools)—these dwellings of a proud and sovereign people. If the ordinary house of our time seems like a joke, remember that it expresses the spirit of our age. The question, then, is: what kind of joke represents the spirit of our age? And the answer is: a joke on ourselves.”
— James Howard Kunstler, “The Geography of Nowhere: The Rise and Decline of America’s Man-Made Landscape”, page 166